India - Mumbai (Bombay)

(continued from Day 1, CLICK HERE to go back to it)

Mumbai (Bombay) - Day 2

MUMBAI, Feb 19, 2006 - Given my physical discomfort, I did not sleep well on my first night at the Taj Mahal Palace.  But between the frequent trips to the bathroom, I managed to steal a few hours of shuteye.  When the cracks of dawn became evident through my window, I got up and started to work on my laptop.  Then I went down to breakfast and gave myself a tour of the hotel...

The hotel is quite was charming, as you can see from the above pictures.  During breakfast, I had to run to the bathroom twice.  So when I eventually went out for a walk around the hotel, I had to be careful not to venture too far from it...

Here's the facade of the Taj Mahal on the muddy-loking ocean...

...as you can see from the close-ups of some of these boats.

Right in front of the hotel, I saw this unusual building.  Later on, I was to learn that that was the famous "Gate to India," an arched stone structure erected in 1911 for the visit of the British king George V and Queen Mary to India.  

As you can see, there were lots of people that Saturday morning milling around this historical monument.  With my blonde hair standing out like a sore thumb among the local population, I was being constantly accosted by people trying to sell me something, do something for me, or just asking for money.  I just kept smiling back at each and every one of them, who in turn returned the smile.  "The Indians are such lovely people," I thought.  Here's what I wrote about it later on that afternoon:

Some parts of its colonial architecture are pretty (I took some picks), but my God, honey... this is still the THIRD world!  Poverty is incredible as is the filth.  The tens of billions of dollars that we (America) have been investing in India have certainly not trickled down to the man on the street.  But I love the "man on the street."  The Indians are so friendly and always polite and smiling.  Not so in other third world countries I've been to.

Here's an example of some homeless people sleeping in the streets outside the Bombay Museum, for example.

Of course, being six feet and with blonde hair I am like honey to the bees when I walk the streets.  Street vendors fall upon me like locusts.  :-)  But I keep smiling and talking to everyone even if I have to keep telling them "no, thank you" all the time.

Right in front of the "Gate to India," there was this group of uniformed school children evidently on a field trip.  Unperturbed by the commotion around him, one of countless loose dogs in the streets of Bombay was catching a wink.  If you look carefully at the above picture in the top left corner, you will see a plaque and a man behind it doing something...

As it turns out, he was repainting with gold lettering a sign that reads "Mumbai" in Indian (above).  I had a nice chat with him before returning to the hotel.  By now, you can probably guess why.  On my way back, I snapped a few more pictures around the hotel entrance...

This statuesque Indian doorman was as tall as he looks in this picture, probably close to seven feet.  I could just see men like him slaying the colonial "red coats" on a battlefield.

An interesting way to "dress up" a car parked in front of the hotel... Once back at the hotel, I booked a private yoga practice for 4:30 that afternoon.  Being an eternal optimist, I was hoping my medical condition would clear up by then.

Mumbai (Bombay) Museum

Since I was told the Bombay Museum was within a walking distance from my hotel, I decided to brave being away from a bathroom for that long.  

The museum and the grounds around it looked lovely from the outside (above).

Inside the museum, I took this photo of some lovely Indian sculptures from 1500 or more years ago.  I was immediately approached by that guard in the left and told sternly that no pictures were allowed (unless you paid a special fee, of course).  So I put my camera away.

The whole time I was in the Museum, I kept having to go to the bathroom every 10-15 minutes.  But a trickle from the night before had dried up to practically nothing by mid-afternoon.  I was beginning to suspect that something may be seriously wrong.  So I headed back to the hotel, not being quite sure I'd be able to make it there on foot.  The pain of the bloated bladder was getting excruciating.  

On my way out, however, I saw this interesting scene... hundreds of uniformed school children waiting to enter the Museum.  "How nice," I thought, that amid all this poverty kids are spending some of their weekends at a place like a museum.

On my walk back to the hotel, I snapped this shot of an interesting building which I found later on was the main Bombay police station.

Bombay ER

Once back in my room, I evaluated my options.  My medical condition was not only not getting any better, it was much worse.  Waiting any longer before taking some action seemed pointless.  But what?  Here I was, alone, in a city of 18 million people, mired in poverty, most of whom could not even speak my language.  

Call home?  No, I decided. I did not want to alarm my family or friends as they were in no position to do anything for me from 10,000 miles away.  

Call the hospital?  Yukh.  I have seen movies of the third world hospitals and every fiber in my body rebelled against entering one.  

On the other hand, I could no longer urinate at all.  And I was in severe pain.  I had visions of my bladder bursting at some point and then having to be carted off straight to an operating table at just such a hospital.  Or to a morgue. For, it was late Saturday afternoon.  If I were to seek some medical help, I'd better do it right away before the doctors leave the hospitals for their Saturday night social engagements.

I called the hotel manager and asked if they had a doctor on call.  They did.  A few minutes later, Dr. Amin was on the phone.  I explained to him what was happening.  He said he would arrange for a medical technician to come to my room with a machine that measures how much residual urine there was in my bladder.  And then we would decide on a further course of action after that.

"How long would that take?" I asked.

"An hour, maybe two," he replied.  "Or would you like to go to the hospital?"

"I am in no position to leave this room," I said, "let alone go anywhere outside the hotel."  I agreed to wait for the technician.

An hour and a half passed by and still nothing happened.  Except that the pain got even worse, as hard as it was for me to believe it possible.  So I called the hotel operator again and asked to speak to Dr. Amin.  He called me back within minutes.

"Sorry, but the technician got a little delayed," he explained.  He added that maybe he could get to the hotel within the next hour or so.

"But we've already wasted an hour and a half," I almost cried out.  "I am not sure I can last that long.  Would he be able to also drain it?"

"No.  Just measure the residual urine."

"Much good will that do me, doctor," I said.  "I need relief, not a scientific test."

"So would you like for me to arrange for you to go to the hospital?"

"How far is that?"

"Maybe 10 minutes by car."

"And who will drive me?"

"I'll speak to the hotel manager and we'll have a hotel car and driver take you there."

"And will the driver wait for me there until we know the outcome?"

"Oh, yes.  He'll wait."

"Okay, then.  Let's snap to it before my bladder snaps."

While the good doctor was making these arrangements, I called my sister, a medical doctor, to see if she had any other advice.  The phone lines were so bad that even after about five attempts I would barely make out what she was saying.  It something about taking a warm bath.  Since I had nothing else to do while waiting for my ride to the hospital to be arranged, I did that. It made no difference.

The phone rang.  It was the hotel operator.  For the second time this afternoon, she was just double-checking to make sure Dr. Amin had called me back.  I was very impressed with the personal interest and care that the hotel staff were showing.

I next called my friend and client Joe Hogan with whom I was supposed to me the next day in Bangalore.  I felt I needed to let him know what was happening in case I don't make it, so he would not be wondering and panicking about what happened to me.  We also had a bad phone connection, but I managed to relay to Joe the gist of it.

I also e-mailed my urologist in Phoenix to let him know what's happening.

The next call was from the hotel manager, Mr. Sayed.  He said he had everything arranged and wanted to know if I can come down by myself.  I thought I could, even though it was a long walk even up and down some stairs just to get to the elevator.  I made it, though.

Finally, I was in a nice and comfortable air-conditioned hotel limo, with a nice driver, Sundar, behind the wheel.  Alas, being Saturday night, the streets were packed and the traffic had ground to a halt.  We were inching our way toward the hospital with long stops when the traffic did not move at all.

It was at this stage that I thought I might be done for.  But instead of panicking, I turned my fate over to God.  Suddenly became calm.  Even the excruciating pain seems to have been dulled as if by an anesthetic.  One thought that crossed my mind was, "oh, shucks... and now my family will be stuck having to figure out how to get a body out of Bombay."

Later on, when I relayed that thought to my friend Joe, he replied wryly.  "That would have been no problem.  They don't bury people in India." J 

Finally, we were at the hospital.  Sundar parked the limo right at the front door of the ER entrance.  A young doctor emerged, looking at me and smiling.  "Welcome," he said, or some words to that effect, as he shook my hand.

They laid me on top of an examination table where we waited for the chief urologist to show up.  I do not know how much time had passed; it seemed like an eternity to me.  I tried urinating several times with no luck.  The young doctor went through my history, probably just to keep me talking and my mind off the pain.  

Finally, Dr. Sadanand Thatte, professor of urology at the Bombay Hospital, entered the room.  It had been 18 hours that my urinary tract was blocked, at first partially, then completely.  Dr. Thatte is a smallish man with slick salt and pepper hair.  After telling him my story for the third time this evening, he went to work. Over 1,000 cc's (about a quart) poured out before I finally started to feel measurable relief.  

"I am starting to feel half human," I said, after getting up from the table.

Everybody laughed.  We joked and bantered for a while, before he sent me off with a prescription for three medicines that I would need to take for the next several weeks to help contract the prostate and prevent infection.  Dr. Thatte said I should be good to fly to Bangalore the next day, even with the catheter and the bag, provided I get immediate medical care upon arrival.  I relayed that message to my friend Joe, who said he would see to it.

Just as we were about to say our goodbyes, Dr. Amin showed up.  He is a distinguished looking man in his 50s.  By now, I was really impressed.  Not just with the friendly yet professional attitude that the first two doctors have shown, but here was now even the hotel's doctor on call making a personal appearance to check up on me.  I felt as if these three doctors had just saved my life, and more importantly, given me hope that I can continue my business trip.  After all, Bombay was only my first stop.  And after Bangalore, I had to fly to six European cities in six countries in six days.  

While I waited for my driver Sundar to get me the medicines at the nearby pharmacy, I thanked God for what had just happened.  And I prayed that He let me continue my trip and do my business in Europe.  Then my phone rang.  It was my friend Joe, checking up on me from Bangalore.

"See you tomorrow," I said confidently at the end of our conversation, thanking Joe also for his care and concern.

Once back at the hotel, I went straight to the manager to thank him and his staff for all they've done.  I then e-mailed my sister and my daughters, now that I had something definitive to report to them.  I was still not out of the woods, but at least I could see a clearing in the distance.

Leaving Bombay, Day 3

(to be continued...)

Back to World Trip 2006 Index